


Like Attracts Like

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras has been fudging the details in Fabian Hawke's story since he met him, but now Theron Mahariel, Fabian's lover, has something to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Attracts Like

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Moodymarshmallow

“I heard you were asking about Hawke.”   
  
Varric looks up to see the reticent, diminutive elf standing at the other end of his long table. The Hanged Man was uncharacteristically quiet, which was fortunate; otherwise he would have never heard the elf’s soft, low-pitched voice. Sliding his small glasses off of his nose and placing them on the table, Varric gestures to the one of the open chairs. Theron slides into it, pulling a knee to his chest.

“You heard right,” Varric says with a genial smile. “I’m working on fleshing out a new chapter.”   
  
“You didn’t ask me,” Theron says, and Varric gets out his quill.

_The elf has eyes like a sunlit forest, no shadows, all sage and new growth, so terribly pale. They dart around, wary and fast like dock cats, searching for something to focus on without being noticed, like tabbies slipping unseen into the shadows with stolen fish._

“That’s true, but I seem to recall you not wanting to be in here.” Varric taps the book with thick finger. “I thought you were sick of being asked.”

_The elf nods, willing to agree for once, and raises a hand to touch one of his tapered ears. He closes up like a locked chest, and his lids shadow those bright eyes._

“I…suppose you’re right.”   
  
“We can rectify this, Red. Tell me what you have to say about Hawke, you know, for the record.”

_The look that comes over the elf’s face is unbearably strange. The swirling red tattoos on his cheeks quirk in an odd way, and he looks as though he wants to hide his face in his hands._

“Hawke is a broken, needy, frustrated man,” says Theron. “He does not deserve the troubles and titles that have been forced on him.”  
  
Varric raises an eyebrow, curious, because this is nothing like what the others said. “What makes you say that, Red?”  
  
“Like attracts like,” he says softly.

_The silence is thick like Feastday pudding, and the elf refuses to speak._

“And you love him,” says Varric gently, almost expecting Theron to lash out. He only nods, red bangs slipping over his face. “The audience thinks Hawke is in love with Blondie,” Varric says apologetically, tapping the book again.  
  
“That’s for the best.”  
  
“I could make some last minute changes before publication,” Varric offers, and Theron shakes his head.

_The elf unrolls himself like parchment as he stands, looking lost, looking empty, like the last of a long-forgotten race._

“I haven’t told him,” Theron says in a half-whisper, his face a convoluted mixture of tenderness and frustration.   
  
Varric understands; writers always do, and after Theron leaves, he opens a new book, no writing on any of the pages. Nobody ever said an author wasn’t allowed to make a different version of his seminal work.


End file.
